


a little unsteady

by rooneysrose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drug Use, Gen, Recovery, difficult brotherly relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27387316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rooneysrose/pseuds/rooneysrose
Summary: when sam comes home from a rehab center, the boxing ball might be the only way to mend their broken relationship.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	a little unsteady

  
**A LITTLE UNSTEADY**

_ 3:15pm, sunday. _

Dean nursed a coffee, waiting for the clock on the dashboard to hit three-thirty. He’d been here for a while now, just staring at the center. People were milling about, coming outside for a smoke and then going back inside, nurses with ID’s on their shirts chatting happily during their breaks.

All Dean felt in this instant was anxious. He had not seen Sammy in six months, not since he dropped him off. Sam had been a shaky mess. He’d looked pale, sick, off - something about him that he’d never been able to pin-point until he’d gone in his room to look for something and come across his stash instead. It was when they’d found a rehab, gotten Sam on board, dropped him off together with most of their money.

Today, it would be a happier day, Dean was sure of that. Six months clean. It was a big thing, it really was. Dean was proud of his brother. He was proud that he didn’t back down, that he didn’t let himself go with the flow.

At the same time, he also worried. Worried what it would be like once they went home and life went back to normal. Because how do you go back to normal when all you can think of is that your brother is hiding things from you? How do you act normal around the kitchen table when all you want to do is figure out if his pupils are dilated or his fingers are shaky?

The dashboard blinked 3:30 back at him. Showtime. Time to go and pick up his brother.

_ 9:45 am - wednesday. _

Sam had only had a small duffle bag with him in the center, packed with mostly comfortable clothing and a few memorabilia from home. Dean had never seen the insides of it, only heard the clink and rustle of clothing as he carried it back inside, Sam following close behind. That was three days ago. 

It was almost weird to have his brother back in the house. Sam had lived with Dean ever since they had the option. It had been tight, first when Dean had just gotten a job and a tiny apartment. Sam got the bedroom, while Dean slept on the fold out couch, until he’d made enough money from his work in the garage to get a tight two bedroom apartment where they both had their space.

After their father flew the nest, they had moved back to their childhood home, with their old bedrooms and the gaping hole of their parents' presence.

That wasn’t quite right. Most days, it was hard to imagine their mother. Dean had been only four, Sam barely a baby. Sometimes, he could remember the sound of her voice, or a song she used to sing to him before sleep, but that was all that Dean’s memories held. Losing their father was a bigger hit.

They never quite knew what happened to him. All he knew was that the home was moved over on his name and it stood empty. His father had just flown the nest. They searched for him, but it was clear that he didn’t want to be found.

Truth be told, Dean hadn’t mourned the loss that much. There was a reason he had taken Sammy out with him when he could. Being around a drunk man was not a good environment to be around. Walking on eggshells because they never knew when they could be yelled at, when they could wake their father up from a mid afternoon nap in a bad mood.

Now that they were living together again, it almost seemed like they didn’t know how to talk to each other anymore. Their conversations were stilted or not had at all. Dean drove him around to get checked, to group meetings, etc. but the car trips always ended in silence. Even if Sam was clearly thinking about whatever was said in the group, he never wanted to share anything.

Which was fine by him, but he missed it. He imaged his fourteen year old brother, excitedly telling him about what he’d done in school and the grades he got, and how Dean smiled when Sam got flustered or happy or excited.

Oh how far they’d gone from those times. Dean would almost do anything to have them back.

Sam was pacing up and down the kitchen counter. Going from the coffee machine to the fridge and back. Soon enough, he’d pave a path in the floor. It wasn’t the first time he was so restless. Dean had heard him doing the same thing during the night, accompanied him on a run down the street, which had not been a fun time, or a helpful time for either of them,

“What’s going on man?” Dean asked. He’d been watching him for too long not to know when something was going on and eating at his brother.

“Nothing. I just don’t know what to do with myself.”

“Do you want to go punch something?”

They had had the ring set up in their garage for what felt like oens. It was the main reason they had bought the house in the first place, before Dean and Sam were even born. His parents had been looking for a place to start their family and in the hunt, they had found this place.

It seemed perfect. Mary had comfortable rooms and could envision their furniture and life here. John had the boxing ring in the garage, they envisioned John teaching their children, bounding with them. Which, in the end, he did. Until he turned ten, John took Dean into the garage on special occasions, when they needed to have conversations or just wanted some time. Then, that became sparser and sparser, until it did not happen at all and their father went completely off the rails.

It sat dusty, but Dean knew they still had their old gloves. Dean still had the happy memories talking about school while his father helped him get his punches right. Sam never really had too many memories, he had been too young when their father lost it.

“I didn’t think it was still there,” Sam said, almost skittish. Dean supposed he understood. It had never been a place that he’d wandered in on. “I thought dad had sold it off.”

“I think he wanted to,” Dean shrugged, digging in the closet for their old boxing gloves. Their childhood gloves wouldn’t fit them, but their father’s old gloves would. If there wasn’t any other option, it would be it. “But nobody ever showed interest, something like that. Try these.” He threw Sam a worn black pair, the leather rubbed down over the years.

“They’re fine.”

“Have you ever done this before?”

Dean walked Sam through the basics. Half an hour later, his brother was sweating, but at least not punching Dean’s hands as much anymore. He was more than thankful to not be a possible target anymore, if Dean was honest.

Despite the fact that the drugs changed Sam, and made him lose a lot of the muscles he’d built up over the years, he still threw a mean punch.

At least it seemed to have helped him, which, truth be told, Dean liked. It was like when he and his father would go out to the ring and box. His father was the one teaching him, now he was teaching his brother.

_ 7:45 pm - monday. _

Sweat had long since soaked its way through Sam’s shirt. They had been at it for what felt like hours, though Dean knew it was maybe only one. Sam had not quite been the one to ask to do it, but Dean had noticed how restless he was. His foot kept tapping on the floor as they were watching some random tv show. Dean had been the one to show initiative, but Sam had followed, silently. Put on the gloves and waited for Dean to be ready before throwing punches.

“Why are you so restless?” Dean asked, moving the ball around as Sam moved back. It was a question he had never dared ask, never knew if it was okay. But if anything, today, he was going to be brave.

It was odd, not knowing how to talk with his own brother. They had never told each other everything, but they had been able to talk. Now, even going to the grocery store felt like a shore, because they both knew it involved talking.

Dean knew, very well, that it would have been easier if he had even gone in on the invitations to be in one of the sessions with Sam. Every month, they had a family session, where they could talk, as a family, about what it was like to go through addiction. Where they could be honest. Truth be told, Dean had pretended to forget.

“I don’t know. I guess. I don’t know. We always had something going on. Therapy or, whatever. But here there is no therapy, no group sessions, no nothing. I mean, I go to them, but.”

“I gotcha. Got something on your mind?”

“They always say don’t get together with addicts,” Sam said, punching the bag harder and harder. “They slip off the track and you get off the track. Someone wasn’t at the group today because they are back to shooting up.” 

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Sam sighed. “It didn’t make me think about shooting up myself, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“That’s not what I was thinking,” Dean said, defensively, even though it had been what he was thinking. He never knew what his brother could be thinning, had never been in that headspace in his mind. All he knew was that they had talked about drugs and using drugs and that it  _ could _ be a trigger to his brother.

Sam punched harder, and harder. Dean almost wondered how the ball was still in one piece.

“You know? You can trust me.”

“How can I trust you when you don’t even talk to me about anything?” His question was met with silence.

_ 4:00 pm - sunday. _

Slowly, it became a daily occurrence. His brother would throw him the gloves and they boxed and they talked. They talked more than they ever did. Something must have changed inside of Sam, when Dean told him that. Told him that he didn’t know how to trust his brother if he didn’t even know what he was thinking, if he was struggling with something. All Dean knew was that his brother used and said he was not anymore, but never mentioned struggling.

They talked about the therapy and how it kicked Sam’s as a couple of times. Talked about how he had gotten his six months sober chip. How he had made friends there and then lost them.

It came slowly. Dean had to tug at first, and then Sam had to tug at Dean but now, the mood in the house was different. It was clear that Sam felt mere at home and to be honest, also that Dean felt nicer. He didn’t look as closely at his brother. 

Truth was, Sam also made a point to say when he struggled, when he - after all these months - still wanted to use and had the craving. How instead, he started going for a run and how that calmed him down.

Sam got a job, which also helped. He knew that it would be difficult, but Bobby down the road had needed someone to help with paperwork and afterall, that had always been the thing that Sam was good at and wanted to do.

It meant that Sam and Dean worked together, but also that they both had an income. Despite the fact that Bobby scared him off from day one saying that if he ever seemed like he was using again, he’d be kicked out, Sam seemed to enjoy having something to do during the day.

Today, Dean decided to be brave.

“You know, I worried,” Dean sighed, watching as his brother hit the bag over and over again. A steady rhythm. “When you first went in. I really was.”

Dean had been worried when he found his stash and he had been worried when his brother started changing again. He should have known, from moment one, that his brother was up to something that was not good for him.

He’d known that in his gut, but he’d ignored it.

“Why?” Sam looked at him in confusion. The bag waved back and forth slightly, still recovering from the blows.

“Because you didn’t look good man.” Dean didn’t know why he had brought it up. Last thing he wanted to do was dig up the memories. “I mean, it’s not the first time I’ve seen you coming down or trying to quit but. I don’t know. You looked rough. I knew that I would be dropping you off, but I didn’t know if you’d be coming back home.”

“I’m, I am sorry Dean. I was trying, I swear.”

“Just, man, I know you’re trying. I know that it’s poison and that it doesn’t leave you much choice, but it hurt that you wouldn’t even trust me with it.” Because Sam had refused to talk to him, had said that it was none of his business. That Dean could never understand what it felt like. Even though Dean had been the one bringing him water and making sure that he actually kept something down when he was coming down and his brother’s body needed the things it was no longer getting.

“I tried to tell you.” Sam punched the bag. “I tried to. So many times I stood there, waiting. Waiting for you to open up for a perfect moment and then it never came and you found my stash.”

“I am sorry for sneaking around your room like that, I was just looking for something.”

“And you found the drugs instead.” 

“Yeah.” 

Sam was silent after that, but Dean was too. They just watched each other. Both thinking, a head full of doubts and thoughts and memories.

“I remember when dad left,” Sam said, sitting down in the middle of the ring. He mentioned for Dean to join him, so he crawled under and sat down next to his brother. It felt awkward, if only because they hadn’t sat like this since they were children, in their treehouse. “Or well, when I moved in with you. You were just a kid.”

“I had to get you out,” Dean just sighs. Most days, he doesn’t want to think back to those memories. He doesn’t want to think back to the countless box mac-n-cheese dinners that they shared, because Dean was too broke for something else and didn’t know how to cook anything else. He spent most of his time slaving away, trying to get some sort of income that would support his growing brother and himself.

“You know, that’s one of my happier memories of childhood, after dad.”  _ after dad. _ It’s like a split in time. The childhood they had when their father still cared, and when he stopped caring. Or at least, it seemed like he stopped caring. Maybe he couldn’t care. “You put me in your bedroom and let me use it even though you had that horrible couch that fucked up your back.”

_ That’s what you do for people you care for - you make sure they have everything they need, you place yourself first. _

“They could have put you in the system, if they ever found out.”

‘But instead, I landed with you. You helped me with school. Hell, you even made sure I could go to prom.”

Dean had taught him how to do his tie, how to make sure that it would look good. Dean taught him all the things his father forgot to teach Dean. 

“Yeah, you looked so awkward.” Dean grins at the memory of his lanky brother standing next to Jess, both awkwardly hoping Dean would let them go soon. “But you had a good time.”

“And I could take Jess home without being worried that dad would be passed out on the couch and beer bottles everywhere.” Sam almost looked sheepish. “I don’t think I ever thanked you for that. You didn’t have to take me in and you didn’t have to do that when I got out of college and a junkie, but you did so anyway.”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Dean admits. “It was scary, seeing you like that. But then you got better, and I got happy because you seemed to be doing so well. And then… you looked horrible again and I asked and asked but you didn’t tell me shit.”

“What did you want me to say? Hi I am Sam and I am an addict again?” Sam scoffed. “That’s, what I learned I guess. You never stop being an addict. In ten years, I could still relapse. I could still get a craving. I could get an accident and they’d take me to the hospital and the pain meds could kick the whole thing off again.” Sam shook his head. “Do you think I am like dad?”

“In which way?”

“An addict, wasting his life away, I don’t know. You know what he was like.”

“No.” Dean knew that for sure. Even though his addiction, he’d never seen him like John. He’d never looked at Sam and seen a reflection of his father stare back at him. “You try. You do your best to be there. You functioned, in some way, even when you were at your lowest. You, I don’t know. I never once thought of dad when looking at you.”

They sat together in silence for a while, each occupied with their own thoughts. Dean knew that it wasn’t all that much. It wasn’t a fix for everything that had gone on for the past couple of years. It didn’t fix the cracks in his trust, but it helped.

At least it was something. It was something that Dean would very happily take.


End file.
